I dig my cell out of my purse to pass the time.
“Oh, you’re already here,” he says and checks his watch. “I hope I’m not late.”
My heart skips a beat at the sight of him. I hate to say it, but he looks good in a gorgeous suit and blue dress shirt. A large brown leather satchel hangs from his shoulder. His blue eyes shine. As much as I hate him, I can’t deny that he has amazing eyes. That’s what hurt so much, the fact that I liked him so much and was so attracted to him, and the feeling just wasn’t mutual.
I stand and smooth the folds of my dress. “No, I’m early.”
His gaze travels down the curves of my body. “You look fabulous. God… that dress…” His words trail off and his mouth hangs.
The hostess, a tall brunette, spots him and shoots us both a friendly smile. “You’re here. Under Moore, right?”
“Yes, Matt Moore,” he says.
“Follow me,” she says, and we follow the classy swagger of her hips as she leads us to our table by a window. A single white rose in a small crystal vase serves as a centerpiece. “Please have a seat,” she says with a smile, and hands us both wine menus and dinner menus. “Your server will be right with you.”
I settle my rear comfortably on the fancy chair, and cross one leg over the other. I sit up straight and attempt to appear more confident than I am. I’m an empowered, independent and confident woman now. I’m not the meek, self-conscious, shy girl he used to know.
“Thank you again for agreeing to eat with me,” are the first words out of his mouth — he’s really kissing my ass. He’s probably riddled with guilt, and can’t wait to wash it off. Maybe Matt Moore does have a conscience, after all.
“Wow, you really stand out in that dress,” he says as he peruses his wine menu.
I look down at my flashy red dress and pumps, stark against the whites of the space. My gaze darts around the room at the other diners, all dressed in shades of black, grey and muted shades. I suddenly feel self-conscious.
“I mean that in a good way,” he says. “You own the room. Everyone’s looking at you.”
A middle-aged man jerks his gaze away when I catch him. I’d been so consumed with what Matt thought of me, I didn’t even notice.
“Who knew little Kayla Wilson would turn out to be such a knock-out?”
His words hit me hard. But not in a good way. “Don’t you mean little Whaley Wilson?”
He shakes his head. “I know I could tell you that I’m sorry a million times, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
“It wouldn’t,” I don’t hesitate to say.
“From now on, I’m determined to make it up to you… now that we’re practically family.”
I smile. “It’s hard to believe. Who would have ever thought… Matt Moore and Whaley Wilson, siblings.”
His face falls. “Please stop reminding me about that shit nickname I gave you. It’s been nagging at me for years, and it’s one of the things about my past I wish I could change.”
His words catch me off guard — I don’t say a thing.
“I’m going to make it up to you, Kayla. I promise.”
